


Paths Not Taken

by Evalie_Soto (Missalyssasecret)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, M/M, One Shot Collection, space boos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missalyssasecret/pseuds/Evalie_Soto
Summary: Navigating the mycelial network on the way back from the Mirror Universe shows Paul an infinite number of divergent pathways.  What if some of them aren't wholly different from our own?This set of one-shots explores the same characters we know and love, but strays from the canon-compliant "We Go Together" series into slightly alternate realities.  Each chapter is a standalone unless otherwise noted.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 30
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly more scientific take on the vampire(ish) trope, wherein Paul worries too much and Hugh thinks worrying is ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a mild amount of blood and discussion of it, no violence or gore. It's done in a safe manner by a doctor, and is *not* intended to imply self-harm.

"Have you taken it for the week?"

Paul shakes his head, teeth worrying at his lip. 

"Nah."

Hugh's eyes narrow, taking in the slight tremor in his hands and unfocused gaze.

"You need to take care of yourself, babe. It's been longer than a week, hasn't it? Why don't I get you some-

Paul snags Hugh's open uniform jacket before he can take more than two steps towards the synthesizer.

"I hate doing it that way."

"It's better for you though, and you know that. Nothing else in it to upset your stomach and more concentrated."

"The artificial stuff never tastes right."

"Love, I've tried it, and it doesn't taste like anything."

Hugh sits back down at the table, tilting his head to the side in inquiry.

"Do you want to call down to the medbay, ask if there's any whole available? Or do you want mine."

It's a rhetorical question, but Paul answers anyway.

"I like yours. 

"Okay. Give me a minute to draw for you." 

"But-" Paul bites his lip again, turning the pale pink skin flush with blood when he lets up, "it's so impersonal like that."

"Sweetheart, it isn't sanitary this way." 

Hugh's protest is quiet, and Paul knows it's done out of care. He's still amazed some days that Hugh takes his partner discussing the flavor notes of synthesized hemoglobin into stride the same way he might comment on how dinner tastes, his only concern being Paul's health. Objectively speaking, it's the exact same contents, but there's something about drinking from a cup that's been screened and processed versus Hugh's warm skin against his mouth. At least he's thankfully not wholly heme-dependent, just needs to supplement his regular meals to keep the newer facet of his metabolism happy. Tilly had been infected to a far greater degree, and he sympathizes with her obvious discomfort in consuming the equivalent of a pint's worth of pure heme daily (theoretically tasteless blended with the green juice she likes, but still).

"Please? Unless-" Paul shifts a little uncomfortably, looking down, "you're not in the mood. I'll just, uhh..."

Strong fingers twine together with his, squeezing firmly and halting that train of thought immediately.

"You know I'm always up for that. Couch? Or bed."

"Bed, please."

He changes into his pajamas and lays down on his side of the sheets, waiting as Hugh digs in the bathroom drawer and comes back carrying the necessary supplies. 

"Thank you."

Hugh looks up from where he's shrugging off his jacket.

"...hmmm?"

"For letting me do this. For...not leaving."

The ever-present insecurity rears its head, worry that despite his assurances otherwise, Hugh isn't a willing donor or is repulsed by his needs. Shirtless, Hugh sits down beside him and picks up the sterilizing spray, bending to drop a kiss on Paul's forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere, love."

Hugh sets up the tricorder to monitor the volume - he trusts Paul not to take too much at once, but Paul doesn't trust himself. 

"Ready?"

"I love you."

Hugh smiles gently.

"I'll take that as a yes. Hand? Or wrist?"

"Wrist. Please."

He waits until Paul settles with his head in Hugh's lap, curled on his side, before deftly swabbing his own wrist and squeezing low on his forearm until the veins become more prominent. Then he reaches for the small laser lancet, thumbs it on to the lowest setting. The hum is barely audible, but it makes Paul's skin prickle with what he knows is coming. Exhaling, Hugh squints at his arm for a moment, then carefully nicks one of the veins the barest amount necessary. Blood wells bright red immediately, and he presses his wrist to Paul's lips before it can escape and run down his arm. 

The tang of blood is coppery, and is in itself admittedly a bit off-putting. But the knowledge that Hugh trusts him, is letting him use his own body for nourishment, never fails to remind him just how much he loves this man. He still hates the tiny hiss of pain when Hugh opens a vein for him, even if his partner shrugs it off. Hugh was only ever afraid **_for_** him, never **_of_** him after it happened. 

It's not the popularly fictionalized sharp teeth tearing his skin open. Rather, Paul seals his mouth over the tiny puncture and licks the blood up as it flows drop by drop, tongue pressed to Hugh's pulse. He hums in pleasure when Hugh starts to stroke his hair, immersing himself in Hugh's scent and taste. He never sucks or tries to pull more, satisfied with what he's being given and the love it's given with. Time has no meaning as he slowly drinks, maintaining eye contact. It's devastatingly intimate, like making love without the erotic element, even more so on the rare occasions that Hugh invites him to drink from his neck instead. Paul knows he could ask for that any time, but the worry over accidentally damaging an artery in that delicate area keeps it limited to only when Hugh makes the offer (and never during sex, because he wants to stay in control of himself). 

He stops long before Hugh's tricorder would even offer its most conservative warning. The flow of blood has almost halted on its own, but he still draws back with caution. A couple of drops slowly dribble out and he gives the cut one more lick, then gently kisses Hugh's wrist. 

"All done?"

He nods, watching silently as Hugh uses the dermal regenerator to seal the tiny wound. Hugh leans down to kiss him, unbothered by the metallic taste on Paul's tongue. 

"Brush your teeth," he swats Paul's shoulder gently and shoos him off the bed, "and don't go so long next time."

Paul pauses in the bathroom doorway.

"I don't like asking."

"And I don't like you not taking care of yourself. We've discussed this before, just tell me when you need it."

"I wor- what if I hurt you?"

Hugh gathers up the lancet and regen, coming to stand between Paul's feet. He curves his free hand around his jaw, thumb stroking gently.

"You won't. I lost more the last time Rhys gave me a bloody nose sparring."

"Still."

"Would you not kiss me if you knew I needed it?"

He watches as Paul blinks at the apparent non-sequitur, nudging him aside so that he can pass and put the equipment away under the sink.

"What's that have to do with this?"

"Would you?"

"Of course I'd kiss you. Especially if you need it."

Hugh turns the water on and reaches for his toothbrush.

"Why do you want to kiss me?"

"...because I love you?"

"Well...exactly."

Paul frowns at him in the mirror.

"Except, we both get something out of kissing, and that's suggesting if I didn't get it from you I could get it elsewhere, and that's not the same thing as kissing at all because-"

"So it's not a perfect metaphor. But my point still stands. I want to do this for you, because I love you."

He doesn't get an immediate response, and they brush their teeth in silence. In fact, Paul doesn't say anything at all until they're both under the covers, Hugh's head pillowed on his chest.

"I really, really love you," he murmurs into Hugh's hair.

"And I really, really love you too. Quit worrying."

Paul's arms tighten around him, and Hugh closes his eyes. 

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally AU, I hope :) Reluctant-to-ask-for-what-he-wants Paul and a loving, understanding Hugh should be a constant across the multiverse. Of course, they turn it into a sensual experience that's another act of love and not purely lust or hunger driven.
> 
> I haven't worked out what strange disease causes its host to require ingestion of hemoglobin, but who knows what's out there in the 23rd century? It seemed more plausible than something completely transformative.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Hugh hadn't put the containment field back up after kissing Paul in "Despite Yourself"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for physical violence.

"Be careful. The enemy is here."

Hugh's smile at seeing Paul's eyes once more their beautiful blue-grey vanishes as soon as they cloud over again. They're nonsensical ramblings, but the hissed words send a trickle of icy unease down his spine. He knows he needs to get back to the equipment on the other side of the medbay, figure out whatever it is that has Tyler so on edge, but he takes a few precious seconds to compose himself again. Paul's unresponsive as he caresses his cheek with the backs of his fingers, and he closes his eyes for a long moment, resisting the urge to nuzzle at Paul's cheek in the hopes of restoring his mind. This isn't a children's story where true love's kiss magically performs miracles, no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

_Beep. Beep._

The sound of the scanner indicating a complete cycle interrupts his thoughts, and Hugh sighs, reaching for the controls to reinstate the containment field. 

"Doctor?"

He snaps upright, Tyler's voice much closer behind him than expected. His shoulders bunch together, muscles knotting with tension, and he wrestles his neutral doctor's face back into place. Tyler doesn't seem to have noticed how much he startled Hugh, which should probably worry him since the man is clearly hyper-vigilant, but right now he'll take anything he can get.

"Mister Tyler. It will take me a little bit to review the scans, why don't you head back to your station? I'll comm you when I'm done."

"Sure. Thanks Doc."

The tightness in his spine doesn't abate until the doors swish shut behind Tyler, and he shakes his head as if he could physically clear it.

_Focus, Doctor. One patient at a time. Paul is here, you can keep an eye on him. Figure out what's wrong with Tyler._

He gives Paul's thigh a gentle squeeze, then moves across to the scanner, flicking the readings up onto one of the wall screens and pulling up Tyler's records alongside them. There's a lot of data to unpack, and he starts with the deep tissue scans, trying to see if there was anything they missed the first time. Some of it is clearly the results of torture; Hugh swallows down the sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of what kind of trauma shattered an entire femur and shaved down knee joints. Maybe there's something in the chondrocyte analysis-

_BEEP._

A warning flashes in the corner of the screen, alerting him that no movement has been detected around biobed two for longer than ten minutes while the containment field is still down. Hugh focuses on Paul's face, jaw slack and eyes unseeing. He hasn't shown signs of trying to wander off in the last hour, and it might be safe to leave him be with just the alarm in place if he vacates the biobed. It's not strictly advisable, but there's no current reason not to. Moreover, without the air scrubbers running within the isolated space, the ventilation sweeps towards him from the other side of the biobed. It's faint, but he can just catch a hint of Paul's cologne, and it soothes some of the worry.

********

"As far as I'm concerned, you're not you."

He's watching Tyler's body language, and something on his face makes the hair on the back of his neck rise as Tyler's eyes lose focus. Hugh starts to turn, intending to step back and away when he's distracted by movement in his peripheral vision. 

_What-_

The hard shove from behind takes him completely off guard and he sprawls over the floor on his side, head colliding painfully with the deck. His vision swims with stars, ears ringing, but he forces himself to his feet the moment he sees Tyler with his hands around Paul's neck, pinning him against a biobed. Paul was never really combat trained, and his clumsy swings aren't connecting hard enough to break Tyler's hold. Hugh has two seconds of paralyzing terror as Paul's face reddens, the awful sound of him gasping for breath as Tyler chokes him, then he bursts into action. 

"Security to medbay, priority alpha, now!"

He's more grateful than ever for voice-activated comms in the medbay where the staff often have both hands occupied and can't spare a hand for controls. Hugh scrambles to his feet, ignoring the throbbing of his face. While he's no martial artist, he hasn't been going rounds with Rhys on the mat for months without picking up something useful. Sheer muscle mass and adrenaline-fueled desperation lend weight to his blows, striking at Tyler's elbows and wrists and trying to force his head back by the chin. He's several inches taller, and Hugh can't get enough leverage to make a difference. A laser scalpel might inflict enough damage, but all of the surgical tools are across the bay and he doesn't dare run for them.

Hugh reels as Tyler lets go of Paul's neck long enough to backhand him across the face. He stumbles back, blood running from his nose and split lip. Tyler spits out a string of words, guttural and full of consonants. Paul's barely struggling now, face a horrible shade of scarlet, and something inside Hugh snaps.

_("Try to kick me in the balls."_

_"_ _What?! No-"_

_"_ _Hugh," Rhys feints a punch at his stomach, sweeps his legs out from under him and advances as Hugh rolls away, "if someone's trying to kill you, you don't play by the rules."_

_"Gen-" Hugh ducks, kick connecting with Rhy's knee, "we're just sparring."_

_The victory is short-lived though, as Rhys spins into it and takes Hugh down to the mat, forearm pinning him to the floor by his collarbone and knee in his stomach._

_"Not every species and gender keeps it there, but evolution made that area on bipedal species sensitive. Someone is trying to kill you, you better fight dirty.")_

Grabbing a hypospray off a nearby cart, he pushes off the biobed and kicks Tyler between the legs from behind. What should have paralyzed a human male doesn't have the same effect, but his grip on Paul's throat loosens long enough for Hugh to dial the hypo to the maximum dose and slam it into the side of Tyler's neck. 

For three terrible seconds that he experiences as years, nothing happens. He looks at Paul, the clear blue of his eyes now reddened and glassy, and fights down the rising sense of helplessness even as he claws at Tyler's face. 

_No no NO NO!_

In the next instant, three things happen simultaneously.

The doors to the medbay fly open, Rhys and two security members bursting through, Saru hard on their heels. Rhys is shouting something, but the only thing Hugh can hear is Paul choking.

Paul goes limp, unresisting and unmoving, held up only by Tyler's hands around his neck.

Hugh draws back and punches Tyler as hard as he can in the side of the head.

Between the blow and the sedative, something must work, because Tyler collapses like an old-fashioned puppet after its strings have been cut. Hugh doesn't hesitate, throwing himself bodily between the men in front of him and shouldering Tyler's unconscious form back as he catches Paul's dead ( _please no, please no)_ weight. It staggers him, and they drop to the floor, Hugh cradling Paul's head to protect it from the deck. He reaches to check for a pulse, can't find one- 

Someone touches his arm and he whirls, teeth bared, but it's just Tracy, tricorder already out and scanning.

"Hugh, we need to start CPR."

He nods, inhales deeply and seals his mouth over Paul's, pinching his nose shut and blowing air into his lungs. Tracy disappears, probably to get the defibrillator, and Hugh tugs Paul to lie flat before straddling his torso and starting compressions. There's more commotion behind him, but he has to trust that security and Saru can handle it.

"Come on, Paul, don't do this to me-"

He finishes a cycle, bends to give Paul another breath just as Tracy returns. 

"Clear, I'm going to shock him."

Hugh yanks open the medical smock, baring Paul's chest, and climbs off for her to slap the electrodes into place. 

"Charged to two hundred-"

Paul jolts upwards from the force of the shock, and Hugh barely waits for his back to hit the deck again before moving to restart compressions. 

"Come on, dammit, breathe, Paul..."

More shouting behind them. 

"Breathe, sweetheart, _please-_ "

Paul gasps and Tracy's tricorder beeps with lifesigns detected.

A phaser discharges behind them.

Silence.

********

Hugh and Tracy ignore everyone else until Paul is on a biobed with oxygen flowing and being scanned for hypoxic brain injury. Saru wisely keeps back, conferring with Rhys as security drags Tyler out. He waits until Hugh straightens and looks over at them before approaching.

"Is he-"

"Stable," Tracy answers for them both, "thank goodness."

"Doctor, are you quite all right?"

That's a really good question.

"I- I don't- yes. Yes."

Tracy pulls a stool up behind him and presses him to sit, handing him a wet cloth.

"What..."

"For your face," Saru tilts his head, expression full of worry, "there's quite a bit of blood, Doctor."

"Oh. Huh."

Instead of using it on himself, Hugh leans forward and wipes his own blood off where it's smeared across Paul's lips and chin.

"Mild concussion," Tracy mutters, not sounding pleased, "fractured nasal cartilage. I'd tell you to lie down and let me get a proper scan, but I'm not going to waste my time."

Saru seems somewhat taken aback by her brusque tone of voice, but it makes Hugh crack a slightly painful smile. 

"Thanks Trace."

She nods and a hypospray hisses, Hugh breathing a sigh of relief as some of the throbbing in his face subsides. 

"Can you tell me what happened, Doctor?"

He resists the urge to shake his head while the dermal regenerator hums, the prickle of cellular regeneration making him itchy. 

"I- I called Tyler down. He came in earlier, wanted- demanded, really, that I make sure there wasn't anything wrong with him. He seemed convinced the Klingons had done something to him, but he couldn't be more specific."

"Was he acting strangely?"

Hugh exchanges a side-eye look with Tracy.

"He was exhibiting classic signs of PTSD, but insisted that I ensure he was fit for duty. He denied any lost time or memory issues."

"I see."

Saru's long fingers flutter, and he looks as unsettled as Hugh feels.

"What provoked his attack on Lieutenant Stamets?" 

"I had identified several irregularities in his bone structure. A pattern of catastrophic fracture in all of his long bones, signs of marrow removal and...mutilation of every single major organ. More than torture would account for at any rate, at least the kind he could have walked away from. Neurological scans matched what we have on file for Ash Tyler, but there was an odd waveform buried under his brainwave patterns."

"An implanted trigger?"

That's Tracy, hand cool on his jaw as she tilts his head back to finish repairing his nose.

"I..." Saru frowns, "admit I am not familiar enough with the subject to speak knowledgeably about it, but are you suggesting that Mister Tyler has been...brainwashed, as humans say?"

"More complex. No signs of an overlaid set of commands..."

"But?"

"I do have a theory that it might be possible to overlay a dominant personality or set of memory engrams over a dormant one. I'm not a neuro specialist, but the literature suggests it's possible. And if so, who knows who or what's buried?"

Tracy sets down the regen and pats his shoulder before moving off, enlisting Rhys to help collect scattered equipment and set the medbay back to rights.

"And how did that lead to Mister Tyler attacking Lieutenant Stamets?"

"I'm not exactly sure, sir, to be honest. I told Tyler that I couldn't let him continue on whatever mission the way he is. He was...there was something off, he was sweating and looked ready for fight or flight. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. Something's not right about that either," Hugh shakes his head, "that wasn't just self-defense. There's no way Paul could have actually hurt him. And it sounded like he was speaking Klingon."

He realizes as he says it that he used Paul's name - they've always been so careful to refer to each other by rank and title on duty - but doesn't care.

Saru tilts his head, making a clicking sound that Hugh has come to associate with the first officer thinking.

"Klingon?"

"I could be wrong."

"Very well. Let us review the feed, if it's available. Mister Rhys?"

"Sir?"

"Can you retrieve the log just prior to Mister Tyler's attack?"

"On it."

Rhys's fingers fly over his PADD, then he's flicking footage onto an unused biobed display. Tracy abandons the tray of hyposprays on a cart and joins them.

The footage unfolds as Hugh remembers, showing him and Tyler talking in front of one of the screens. Vital sign monitors on the right hand side of the playback show Tyler's heart rate and respiration spiking as Hugh begins to explain his theory. At the same time, Paul's brainwave patterns normalize and he sits up on the biobed, shaking his head. He looks their direction and frowns, climbing down and moving towards them, ignored by both men.

_"As far as I'm concerned, you're not you."_

His recorded self takes a step to the side, attention drawn by Paul's approach. That's the same as he remembers. What he doesn't remember is Tyler moving behind him, expressionless. Gone is the angst and agitation, face utterly impassive as he raises his hands. Tyler's intent is clear to anyone with martial training. There's only one reason to...

"Oh my god," Rhys breathes as Tracy inhales sharply. 

Hugh shivers violently as he watches Paul push him to the ground moments before Tyler's hands could connect with his head. 

_He was going to kill me._

The playback continues, but Hugh is no longer paying attention. Instead, he glances over at Paul lying still on the biobed, eyes clouded over again. It takes two decades of medical training not to simply walk over and gather Paul into his arms the way he wants to, to beg him to return to himself and hold Hugh because right now, more than anything, he needs to feel safe.

"Doctor."

Saru's voice is gentle, and he turns back to find the three of them watching him with varying expressions of shock and disbelief.

"It appears that Lieutenant Stamets saved your life."

Hugh nods, not trusting his voice.

"Please, Doctor, take some time to rest. There are a great many unanswered questions, but those can wait for the Captain's mission to be completed. Come along Mister Rhys, we will leave them to monitor the Lieutenant's condition."

Rhys follows him out, and Tracy waits for the doors to close again before sinking down onto a seat herself.

"Trace?"

"Saints and angels, Hugh. He...you..."

They reach for each other's hand, squeezing briefly.

"Yeah."

This time he doesn't resist the urge, relocating to Paul's side and stroking his cheek gently. He leans down until their lips brush, pressing a lingering kiss there.

"Thank you, sweetheart." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up a lot longer than I started out, but I kept thinking of new details to add. Not sorry about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly different take on the events in "If Memory Serves". What if Paul had been a bit more perceptive post-"Saints of Imperfection"?

As soon as the doors close behind him, Hugh lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. In the corridor, surrounded by a rush of people, all he could feel was their eyes on him, the bustle of voices and smiles of wonder on seeing him. He doesn't feel like an object of wonder, isn't really sure what he feels like at all.

"Hugh?"

Paul's voice is gentle as a hand lands on his bicep, rubbing gently. He tries to contain it, but Paul picks up on the flinch upon contact.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he forces a smile to his lips that's wobbly at best, "just...I'm fine."

Paul doesn't look fully convinced, but he nods and lets his hand slide down Hugh's arm to entwine their fingers, leading him over to the couch and settling them close together on it. Once they're seated, he wraps his arms around Hugh's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace.

"I'm so-so happy. Happy doesn't feel like enough. You're _here,_ and..." Paul pauses to take a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to Hugh's temple, "I just. I missed you so much, Hugh."

For a moment as his arms tighten, Hugh can't breathe. He stiffens in panic, pulling his face out of Paul's chest and sitting up as soon as the hold loosens.

_What's wrong with you? It's **Paul.**_

"...what is it?"

He looks away to cover the awkward moment, eyes coming to rest on the stack of opera solids on the coffee table in front of them.

"You kept all my things."

Paul sighs, squeezing Hugh's knee.

"I tried to pack them up. I got about half a box in, and I just...couldn't. I know I was supposed to, Tilly even offered to help, which was probably the weirdest experience of my life. Tracy too, but I- I guess I wasn't ready. I needed to feel like you were still here with me, just not here specifically."

"I- okay."

Hugh looks down at their hands, Paul's cupping his as if they were something precious. He can feel their heat and weight, but there's no depth to the touch, as if it stops at his skin alone.

"All right, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Paul slides off the couch to kneel on the floor in front of him. "I know something's wrong."

"I guess, I just...I don't feel- I just feel a little off."

A nod.

"Well. You were..."

Paul swallows, and Hugh feels an inexplicable flare of annoyance.

"I died, Paul."

The annoyance grows when Paul tries to smile again.

"You're here now, and I think we should take this for what it is. A miracle."

Hugh snatches his hands back, a knot twisting in his stomach at the hurt on Paul's face.

"It's not a miracle, Paul. You said it yourself, it's science."

"Okay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to force down the irrational annoyance at Paul for being agreeable.

"Tell me what you need? Whatever you're feeling, I want to help."

"I don't know."

"I think what it is, is a neutralizing shock-"

His control shatters.

"You keep pushing me to feel something! You have no idea!"

He explodes off the couch in a flurry of motion, regardless of the fact there there's nowhere to go, and he's actually not completely sure what he's trying to run away from.

_That's a lie._

In the bathroom doorway, he stares at his own face in the mirror, arms hugging himself in a futile effort to take away the sense of wrongness in being in his own skin. Paul slowly approaches from behind, hands palm up beseechingly. Hugh doesn't turn to look at him directly, watching their reflections in the mirror. It seems to fit, being at one remove from the physical reality. 

"Look. I- okay. No. I don't know. But I want to help."

He can hear the sincerity in his voice, and swallows hard. The moment stretches out, fragile, trapped between himself and the proverbial wall. Part of him, the part that speaks with Doctor Culber's calm voice in his mind, is frightened of his own seemingly irrational anger. It builds in his chest, teetering between lashing out in frustration and breaking down into tears. 

_He doesn't understand._

_He won't unless you tell him._

_How do I tell him when I don't know what to say?_

In the end, he does neither, settling on the truth instead.

"I don't know that you can, Paul."

The words hit Paul like a physical blow, shoulders sinking as he closes his eyes and rocks back half a step. When he opens his eyes again, they're reddened and shining with unshed tears, but he presses his lips together and tries to smile.

"Look, why don't I go get us dinner. I'll get all of your favorites, and-"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

_Stop being someone I don't recognize._

"This! You're being..." he spins away from the doorway, closing the distance between them, "you never put together dinner in our quarters before."

"I know. I should have. And I'm so sorry for everything I didn't do right before. But I promise I'll make up for it, I'll be better now. Anything you want. When you were...gone, I-"

"I was dead. Why can't you just say it?"

"Why are you so angry with me?"

Paul's voice spirals up, small and tight. It's so unlike his memories of what he should sound like, and the question prods at the agitated storm inside. 

"You know what, Paul? That's a good question."

He regrets the words before they're even fully out, the small amount of relief he feels in voicing them overridden by the way Paul recoils and the violent pounding of his heart. Shaking his head, he storms past Paul, heading for the door. Hugh is halfway across the room, fists clenched, before he hears footsteps behind him.

"Wait!"

He turns. 

"Please don't go."

Paul's hands are tense at his sides, fingers splayed wide and eyes pleading. The sight of him, the hitch in his breathing, deflates Hugh's anger as suddenly as it burst out. 

"I...I can't. I can't do this right now."

Neither of them move, staring at each other. 

"Okay."

This time, there's no artificial lightness or placation in Paul's tone. 

"Will you... will you stay?"

That's not what he was expecting.

"What?"

Paul's eyes travel the short distance between Hugh and the door. 

_Oh._

Will he? 

He closes his eyes, weighs the thought of fleeing Paul's attention against the fact that there's really nowhere else for him to go, nowhere people won't stare and smile and treat him like he's some sort of miracle. That's not completely true - he knows he could find Tracy - but it's enough for him to make a decision. 

Hugh takes a cautious step away from the door, then another, watching as Paul's shoulders slump and some of the panic fades from his eyes.

"Yeah." 

Paul sits down hard on the end of the bed, scrubs his palm across his face. There's disappointment clear in his expression when Hugh pulls out a chair to sit at the table, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he turns to face him fully, seeming to gather himself before speaking.

"When you di-" he sways a little, clenches his jaw, and starts again, "When you died. I...everything stopped. Once we made it back home, I mean, and there was the war, and I just...I could pretend you were still here. Sort of. And then, the war was over and I was still here and you weren't."

His voice is quiet, so low and raw that Hugh leans forward to hear.

"All I could think of was how many times I should have told you I loved you. I shouldn't have let you ever think anything was more important to me. Because it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Was I supposed to just- just move on? When the love of my life was...was killed and I couldn't do anything about it? Coming home, going to bed alone, it was like part of me was missing," he jabs a finger at his own chest, heart-high, "gone. So yeah, I'm have a bit of a hard time talking about it."

The humorless laugh that follows is laced with tears.

"And now, we found you, you're back, and it's like I can suddenly feel again. And I want to do it right this time. I need to show you how much you matter to me. But I'm doing it wrong, and I don't know why."

Twin tracks of tears trail down Paul's cheeks and he swipes at them almost angrily, lips quivering.

"Will you let me make it right?"

It's hugely selfish of Paul, Hugh realizes, and it's done out of love. The guilt he's carried and nurtured alongside his obviously unresolved grief is driving him.

"Paul...it was never about that."

"I- okay."

"I need you to underst- I need you to listen."

Paul nods, jerky and tight.

"I shouldn't be here. No-" he shakes his head as Paul opens his mouth, " _listen_ , Paul. Please."

Hands clenched into fists at his sides, Paul complies.

"I died. And you found a way to bring me back, but I don't feel like me."

Slowly, he reaches across the distance between them, braces himself and lays a hand over Paul's fist. Paul immediately turns his hand over, fingers uncurling, welcoming. Hugh doesn't interlace them, just leaves their palms touching.

"I don't...I don't feel _you._ And I should, and I don't know what to do. I mean, I'm touching you, I feel you, but I don't. It's not the same." 

He can tell that Paul's aching to ask him what he means by that. 

"And every time you touch me, I know what it should feel like. And I do, in here," he points at his temple, "but my body doesn't know. Doesn't react, doesn't connect with it. With you. I see you, I hear you, I- I can smell you. And I know that it means something to me, that you meant something."

Paul flinches at the past tense, but stays silent.

"Everything is familiar, but it's not. And I don't know that it will ever be, that I'll just wake up and suddenly it's all back the way it was. And it scares the fucking hell out of me. You keep pushing, keep asking...and I don't know."

He's out of words, physically exhausted with that confession. Paul waits for a few breaths before cautiously opening his mouth again.

"I...don't understand. I want to, I want to help. And you're saying I can't."

Hugh nods. Paul bites his lip, eyes distant. When he speaks again, his tone has changed.

"This...isn't about me, is it?" 

He's not sure how to answer that. Either way, it hurts.

"I- okay. Okay. Can we...can we try this again?"

Annoyance pushes through the fatigue.

"Were you li-"

"No! No...I mean, not all this," he gestures at the space around them, "I mean this."

It looks like it's agony for him to do it, but Paul slips his hand out from under Hugh's. He folds his hands together, fingers clenched and knuckles going white.

"Paul...?"

Hugh frowns, unsure what's about to happen. Then Paul tips his chin up, a gesture so familiar in its insecurity that something in his memory makes his chest twist, just a little. 

"May I touch you?"

"...what?"

That's not what he was expecting at all. Paul clears his throat and shifts awkwardly on the bed, but his expression turns determined.

"I didn't- didn't ask what you want. So...may I touch you?"

Narrowing his eyes, Hugh considers. He's not sure where Paul is going with this, not exactly. His memory tells him that he should want this, tells him that Paul Stamets, once set on a topic, will see it through to the end. He nods, watching as Paul holds out his hand palm up between them and stops there, waiting.

 _Halfway. He wants you to meet him halfway._

Hugh stares at Paul's hand, examining it in a way he hasn't in a very long time. He takes in the broad palm, the strong fingers, the dusting of near-invisible hair on the back. Blunt short nails, visible callus on the side of his middle finger from holding a stylus. 

Inhaling, he cautiously sets his hand on Paul's. The fingers beneath his twitch, but Paul doesn't squeeze or tug or do anything else but simply let them rest against his. He can feel the heat of Paul's skin, the hammering of his pulse. It's familiar and not at the same time, and he can tell Paul is itching to speak by the way he's biting his lower lip to contain himself.

A breath.

Two breaths.

A dozen.

Then, Hugh pulls his hand free. Paul's next breath hitches, eyes wide with alarm as he stands.

"I-"

There's a foot and a half between them - nothing like the lack of personal space he remembers - when Hugh sits down on the bed next to him. Paul's relief is palpable, but he doesn't move, slowly lowering his hand to the duvet at his side. His breath catches again, this time with something like desperate hope written on his face when Hugh reaches down and slips his fingers between Paul's, slowly curling them together and squeezing.

A tiny spark of something flashes through his chest, there and gone again.

They don't speak, sitting still as Hugh looks at Paul the same way he examined his hand, lets his eyes trace over the breadth of his shoulders and down to his waist and back up to his face again. He moves towards him, closing the distance between them to less than a foot. This close, he can feel the heat coming off Paul's body, smell the sweat and traces of cologne.

"I missed you."

Paul's voice trembles, barely above a whisper.

Hugh licks his lips to wet them, watching as Paul tracks the movement with his eyes.

"I missed you too." 

He's not sure how long they stay like that, other than it's long enough for the lights to switch over to evening cycle, dimming. Long enough that his heart stops pounding. Long enough that he realizes he's unconsciously matching his breathing to Paul's. 

Then-

"May I hold you?"

The question is just as quiet and tentative as the first, and he takes his time thinking about it before nodding. Paul doesn't let go of his hand, just slides over the rest of the way until their thighs are touching, and only then releases his fingers. He watches Hugh closely while he raises his arm, setting it lightly over his shoulders. Paul's focus is a little bit off-putting, but mostly it reminds him of how he used to stare at his data when working, the intent look of full attention. It's the same look that meant nothing short of a warp core breach could interrupt him, and often associated with the frustration of trying to get him to eat dinner or come to bed. Right now, though, it's strangely comforting.

"Okay?"

The warmth is...nice. He lets himself lean a little on Paul, bit by bit, before answering.

"Okay."

Paul's fingers flex against his shoulder, thumb drawing tiny circles that make him shiver. He freezes abruptly, starts to lift his arm away, and Hugh isn't sure why.

"Paul?"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"You didn't like that."

"Oh. Oh - no, that was okay.

"Are you sure?"

_I remember your arms around me._

Instead of answering out loud, Hugh toes off his shoes and scoots back until he reaches the middle of the mattress. Paul doesn't move until he pats the duvet beside him, then he's unzipping his own boots and joins him. He doesn't break eye contact as Hugh sets his hand flat over Paul's chest, feeling it rise and fall. Hugh presses a little until he takes the hint and lies down on his back.

Before, Hugh used to prefer Paul lying on top of him, legs tangled together, grounded beneath his weight. There's a question in Paul's eyes, but Hugh doesn't lean down to kiss him. Not yet. Instead, he taps Paul's bicep until he raises his arm and Hugh can lay on his side and rest his head on Paul's shoulder. He leaves his hand where it's at, Paul's heartbeat slowing again.

"Hugh?"

He offers Paul a small, tentative smile as his arm comes up around his shoulders.

_You made me feel safe._

********

Hugh's still awake two hours later, eyelids heavy. Paul had drifted off maybe an hour ago, his breaths even and deep. His head is turned towards him on the pillow in a way that's bound to make his neck ache later, and Hugh works up the courage to pop the snap on his collar and ease the zipper down just a little. Paul sighs as he does so, but doesn't wake. 

This doesn't feel completely comfortable, but it's more right than wrong. The physical and emotional exhaustion of the past several hours is catching up to him, and he closes his eyes.

********

He comes awake all at once, inhaling sharply but not moving until he remembers where he is. The room is dark, lights gone to night cycle, and he tries to figure out what woke him up. Hugh frowns; Paul's heat is still there, but he's shaking.

"Paul?"

A sniffle, cut off but audible.

"I'm here."

"...are you crying?"

A slightly louder sniffle.

"You're really here. I- I thought I dreamed yesterday."

Hugh pushes himself up on his elbow, eyes adjusted enough to just make out Paul's face. 

"Sweetheart-"

Paul's chest heaves and his free hand flies up to cover his mouth, sobbing. Alarmed, Hugh sits up.

"What- what is it?"

Paul shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. It's a couple of minutes before he gets his breathing back under control enough to speak.

"...I- I. Didn't think tha- that. I'd ever hear you s-uh...say that. Again."

Oh.

_Oh._

"I muh- missed you so. So much."

There's an ache inside that he can't identify, and it propels him forward until he's resting his forehead against Paul's cheek.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this two months ago and it's sat unfinished. After working on When Sorrow Turns to Joy, I needed to write a more hopeful ending while still respecting the weight of what Hugh and Paul have both been through.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Michael had done things just a little differently in "There Is A Tide"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognize the first half from Chapter 165 ("Suffocate") of We Go Together.

“We have to jump back now,” Paul slams a canister into place. “He’s in the nebula and so is Saru-“

”We have to get you off this ship!”

All he can see when he looks at Michael is betrayal.

”They’ll die.”

He shouldn’t have to state the obvious to remind her of it.

”I know.”

He rounds on her, hand shaking violently as he points in accusation.

“I already lost him once, I can’t go through that again. And, Adira, what would I tell them?”

”Adira’s with them.”

Blood pounds in his ears and he can’t breathe.

“No.”

It comes out as a desperate sob. Paul shakes his head as the words sink in, slowly, and then faster and faster. There’s a terrible suffocating sickness twisting around his chest, one he’s only too familiar with.

Loss.

> _Hugh’s body, lying cold and still under a stasis field._

Part of his heart and soul ripped away.

> _Watching them lower the casket, Aida’s tears falling on his cheek as he collapses over her lap and cries for them to bury him too so he can lay down to sleep with Hugh for eternity, so that his love isn't alone in his cold grave._

He won’t let that happen again.

Michael grabs his arm.

_Get off me._

”Hey-“

”Let. Go. Of me,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

He can see it in her eyes, the belief that she’s right, that her way is the only way and she’s prepared to force it on everyone.

 _Betrayal_.

“I can’t do that.”

”Let me go!”

Michael’s strong, but with his desperation Paul’s stronger. He shrugs her off violently, hands on the spore cube door.

Her hands whirl him around, caging his face in a horrible parody of Hugh’s gentle tenderness.

Never touching Hugh again. 

Never kissing him.

Never waking to see his smile.

 _Betrayal_.

”Paul!”

_Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshut **UP**!_

“My **_WHOLE LIFE_** is in the nebula!”

> _Hugh whispering “I love you, sweetheart”._

_No._

He shoulders her off, reaches for the door, but she grabs him again. In any other situation Paul would never raise a hand to harm her, but he can’t let her stop him.

"Paul," her voice is ragged, "please listen to me."

"No! You're just going to let them-"

Her face pales, eyes gone wide but her grip doesn't falter even as he struggles.

"No. No! Listen to me-" she shakes her head to clear it, and her hands, tacky with drying blood, slide along his cheeks, "Adira took radiation pills with them. They've bought them time. I don't know how long, but you have to believe me." 

_What?_

"We have to keep you safe. If Osyraa catches us, if she gets control of you and jumps Discovery anywhere else, we will _never_ be able to get back there in time. _I will go back for them_ , Paul. I promised - I just...we can't save them if you're under mind control and on the other side of the galaxy."

The sincerity of her words crashes against the betrayal eating him alive, the acid etching his heart. He wants to believe, but every instinct is driving him to go to Hugh _now, fast, nothing else matters, you will_ ** _not_** _lose him again._ Her hand twitches, and for a moment he wonders if she's about to use a Vulcan nerve pinch to subdue him. 

"Hugh said to tell you that he loves you."

A moan like the sound of a wounded animal splits the room, and it takes a moment before he realizes that horrible noise was torn free from his own chest at the finality of that statement. It sounds like a farewell, and he _cannot_ bear it if Hugh is taken from him again. He tightens his grip on the door of the spore cube, ready to try and break free again when Michael closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

There's something she isn't telling him, and dread sinks its icy claws into his spine. 

"Michael, don't-"

She exhales hard.

"They have up to a day from the radiation before Hugh said it's too late. I don't know how stable the ship is, so we need to get you safe now, Paul, and deal with Osyraa."

He shakes his head, anger and fear and helplessness refusing to subside, warring with reason. His fingers wrap around her wrist, trying to pull free, but her grip is adamantine.

"Paul," her voice drops to a near whisper, breaking, "I love them too. Please believe me."

_Hugh trusts her._

An artificial calm descends, and he stares at Michael, eyes boring into her. 

"We followed you. _Hugh_ followed you. We gave up everything so you wouldn't have to be here alone."

"I know," she's shaking, "I know."

"Promise me you will bring them home. _Promise me_ , Michael. Because if you don't, if I lose him again, I-" he pulls in a ragged breath, "I will never forgive you."

Part of him knows that's unfair, but he doesn't care. There's a sudden moment of terrible clarity, the realization that he doesn't give a damn if the whole Federation burns down around him so long as Hugh and Adira are safe. 

Michael stares back, unblinking. 

"I promise. And we're running out of time."

He nods sharply.

"How am I getting off the ship?"

"Emergency retrieval field. I'll overload a phaser and HQ will pull you in as soon as you're detected."

Paul gestures at the door, scooping up a fallen phaser and waiting for her all-clear before following her into the corridor. He hesitates for just a moment at the threshold, knows he could seal himself inside the cube and initiate a jump before she could stop him, but-

Michael pauses, eyes meeting his, and he knows she knows what he's thinking.

"Please trust me, Paul. Even if we went for them now, we don't have control of the ship and there's no way to know what Osyraa will try to do to them."

He never thought he'd consider leaving the love of his life on a radioactive wasteland in the middle of a nebula would be safer than beaming him back aboard their starship, but it's come to that. Paul blinks, then turns to seal the doors shut in a way that will require a Starfleet access code to override. Michael squeezes his hand once, then they're off down the corridor at a sprint. 

_Believe he will be safe._

_Hold on, Hugh. Please, hold on._

_I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made my opinion of Michael's actions in canon abundantly clear, so I figured it was time to fix it. It was great drama, and awful for character development because Michael had learned so much in Season Two from Pike and should have done better. Also? No breaking our space boo.


End file.
